


Stronger Than Reason

by txorakeriak



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, First Time, M/M, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-09
Updated: 2005-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txorakeriak/pseuds/txorakeriak
Summary: It's Norrington's first command, and nothing goes as planned. Faced with uncooperative weather, impending food shortages and a crew getting more and more reckless, the captain needs to make a decision. It doesn't help that Midshipman Hornblower oversteps the line and Norrington is tormented with unsuitable thoughts...
Relationships: Horatio Hornblower/James Norrington, Horatio Hornblower/OMC
Kudos: 1





	Stronger Than Reason

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place at the beginning of "The Even Chance" with the difference that France has already declared war on Britain and Horatio Hornblower doesn’t come aboard Captain Keene’s ship of the line Justinian but a warship commanded by Norrington.

_"Die Natur ist stärker als die Vorsätze."  
("Nature is stronger than reason.")_  
\- Theodor Fontane (1819-1898)

*

**Atlantic Ocean, January 1793.**

Only a week after King Louis XVI's execution and the declaration of the French Republic of the People, the Admiralty in London had given orders to support, secure and reinforce important strategic ports and islands between the Indian and the Pacific Ocean, so that the French could not expand any further. In addition, every French supply or transport ship en route to the East Indies was to be intercepted and destroyed or taken as a prize of war. 

Most ships were sent to positions in the Channel, the Mediterranean and the Atlantic to avoid a French invasion of England, protect the King's interests in the West Indies and block access to the East Indies the Cape of Good Hope, but there was another route to India consider. While it was true that the waters around Cape Horn were particularly dangerous, strong winds and currents as well as icebergs and gigantic waves having crippled or sunk many a ship, the route via South America was a viable one for a force deprived of all other options. 

It was not the most important task the _Phoenix_ , a 74-gun warship with an able-bodied crew, could have wished for, but it was the one the Admiralty deemed fit for its inexperienced commander. The newly promoted James Norrington was considered promising by the Admiralty, no doubt, but he had just passed his lieutenant's exam a few months earlier and never had command of a vessel. This mission would make or break him. 

Unfortunately for him, the voyage seemed doomed from the beginning. The ship had sailed out of the Channel in a heavy storm, and Norrington, used to foul Channel weather, had pressed on without shortening sail. There had been reports of French ships gathering in the Atlantic, off Madeira, and he meant to catch them before they left. A fateful decision which first lost them their mainsail, then their helmsman, and finally their bearings. As the ship turned, the wheel rolling free, the hull grazed some rocks. The crew eventually managed to steer clear of the coast, pumped out the water from the hold and started repairs on the leak and the mast, but the damage was done. Half their dry supplies had taken water. Considering the fact that the ship's hold was filled with cannons and other weapons and she was only carrying supplies for four months - the time which was calculated for the crew to reach the coast of South America - he now had to make it in two or make an unscheduled stop.

As the storm was clearing, they suddenly spotted sails on the horizon. A frigate. French colours. They finished their makeshift repairs on the hull, strung up a new sail, and gave chase, but the French ship proved swift. It led them past Madeira, towards the Canary Islands, and then headed west for South America. Finally, a bank of fog cut off their sight and eventually the chase. 

According to Norrington's calculations, they were in the middle of the Atlantic, close to Cape Horn than any available port, and chances were they might not make either. During the night, more supplies had spoiled, and water was growing scarce. Changing course for the Cape of Good Hope now, and stocking up on supplies on St. Helena or any of the other islands close to the African coast meant a longer voyage as well as the chance of the French convoy slipping through their fingers. His lieutenant, a seasoned officer but a man of seemingly no personal opinions, was of no help, and Norrington didn't press him. He was in command of the ship. He had to make the decision and take responsibility for it.

And then, they were suddenly becalmed. During the first morning watch, the winds had stopped entirely. Norrington ordered the men to the oars, but it was to no avail. They would lose more time. With every sea mile they made, the crew's anxious gazes at their commander increased in numbers. Sailors, when sober and in good condition, were a restless and sceptical lot, but the crew of the _Phoenix_ was underfed, thirsty, and exhausted. No doubt many of them were starting to wonder whether their Captain's ambition - as the fickle mistress of the devil had done so many times before - would risk all their lives. They were only individuals, after all, and individuals didn't count much, compared to the importance of the service and their mission. 

The men on board knew that severe food shortenings would await them by the end of the week if they couldn't drop anchor anywhere to stock up on supplies. They had been threatened by it for quite some time already, but their optimism and their captain's had, up till now, prevented them from that fate. It wasn't possible anymore to ignore all the empty barrels in the store room and the still full ones, seized with vermin or perforated by rats. Morale was low. Since they had passed the Canaries, the ship's officers had caught five sailors spreading mutinous talk and brought them to justice immediately. They couldn't afford any laxity. However, the rumours were still there, hard to choke or kill. By flogging a sailor showing mutinous potential, they cut off only one head of the hydra, only to find two new heads had grown during the night.

Luckily for the captain and his officers, that was only one side of the coin. On the other, there were the good, loyal sailors who were accustomed to life aboard a ship to the extent to know exactly that the Navy's officers starved like the common seamen did and there was no feast laid on the table before them while the poor souls on the gundeck and the quarterdeck had to nibble on what the rats had left behind for them. They tried to keep away from foul talk, anxious not to be held responsible for it or to be dragged into it. But they showed their displeasure, if only in another way. Their songs had grown louder, longer and more critical and the time of their leasure had extended, until they had begun singing and dancing all night through. It was 'drink now, for tomorrow we shall starve', and they clearly welcomed the fact that there was still enough rum on the ship to keep them going.

Norrington had long lost any inclination to be cheerful. He had refused the spirits, listening to that damned voice of reason in his head which he had cursed too often of late, and confined himself to his cabin. There, he sat brooding over his charts, his head in his hands, attempting to finish his calculations while his mind kept wandering off. As if he didn't have enough worries.

The Admiralty's decision of giving him command of the _Phoenix_ had not been unanimous, since he was only thirty-four years of age, much younger than other men of his rank. He didn't lack experience in how to command a ship and her crew; he had been given many chances to prove himself during his career and he had fulfilled every duty to his superiors' satisfaction. However, certain admirals were convinced he lacked experience in years. It was even more important for him now to prove himself worthy of the commission and the promotion.

Unfortunately, the distraction he currently faced had nothing to do with the Admiralty, the weather, the crew or the need for supplies. The disastrous state of his mission would have been enough reason for any man to lose his mind over, but Norrington had braved these challenges calmly and with faith. No, there was something else, something entirely dreadful - and especially so because it was of a very personal nature.

It had all started with a quite ordinary call of nature during the last middle watch and had troubled him ever since. He knew now that he wouldn't sleep for an uncertain number of nights if he didn't finally see an end to what ailed him, pained him and gave him entirely unsuitable thoughts which distracted him from his duty. The watch, which was also called hell watch in common talk and clearly doing its best to be the start of Norrington's personal hell, would ever rest in his memory as the start of a series of unfortunate events he was incapable to condone but had lost the power to condemn.

First, right after having climbed out of his cot, left his cabin, closed the door quietly behind him, and headed for the wardroom, he had heard them. Then, having arrived on the doorstep of said wardroom, he had seen them. And then, all his senses seemed to leave him.

Two midshipmen. Together. In a most unsuitable manner, their hands in each other's breeches, moving steadily. Fortunately, they had not been on watch, but their conduct warranted punishment according to the Articles of War. Or would have warranted, if Norrington - and God damn him for it - hadn't held his tongue, forgotten about his call of nature and rushed back to his cabin. He had let himself fall against the door with a thud as loud as his heavily pounding heart; and the breath he'd been holding had escaped his lungs like a moan against the waves. 

He would never have taken his midshipmen, 19-year-old Peter Hallett and 17-year-old Horatio Hornblower, for sodomites. Never had he doubted their excellence as seamen or their loyalty. Norrington had started to console himself by assuming it had happened out of necessity. He knew that it took some time to blow out the brightly burning flame of adolescence and bring an end to the eagerness to discover the world. He was well aware of the secret dreams and wishes he himself had harboured when he had been a midshipman. It was perfectly normal, especially when one saw his shipmates every day and in all states of clothing, and got to know all their talents and defects. One admired some. But as it had been the case with Norrington himself, such thoughts should never come to life. Some things simply had to be left undiscovered - things Hallett and Hornblower had yet to learn about. It was clear they had overstepped the line.

However, all his brooding didn't suffice to convince himself of what he wanted to believe: that it had been nothing more than an effect of coming of age. If it had been, they would have dealt with it on their own, not together. They wouldn't have comported themselves in such a dangerous manner. 

This particular thought seemed to have begun it all inside Norrington. Thoughts had started to torment him, ideas, questions. 

How would it feel to have another hand touch him there? Not a woman's hand - a man's hand, which knew exactly what it was doing? A young man's hand like Hornblower's, stroking him slowly until he couldn't bear it anymore? How would it feel to return the pleasure, to make that full, luscious mouth moan in sweet agony? To make Hornblower throw his head back against the wooden planks, shiver, pant, beg for more? 

Norrington couldn't really explain why all those questions culminated in young Horatio Hornblower, who had just gotten out of school and into service, right after war had been declared on Britain. He was an innocent - or so Norrington had believed – untrained but intelligent, with a special talent for mathematics. He was a loyal young man; ambitious, and up till now always conscious of his duty, which had impressed Norrington more than once during their voyage; completely different from his shipmate, Peter Hallett, who had served as a midshipman on the _Phoenix_ for a year already and had never appeared to be especially striking. Furthermore, the blond boy wasn't particularly handsome, quite tall for his age but thin as a stick, and secretly, Norrington was wondering what Hornblower found in him. And then, he asked himself if it was just jealousy on his behalf and utter injustice against Hallett. 

In any case, he couldn't permit such improper thoughts - who knew that better than the commander of the ship - but they were there and they were difficult to dismiss. He had tried. It was impossible. Whatever he had wanted to distract himself with suddenly seemed less important than this personal issue with Hornblower. He couldn't even concentrate on his charts anymore. The coastlines and the coordinates, the positions and the routes blurred in front of his eyes until he thought he could almost make out the lines of his midshipman's face. He was getting mad, but he had no explanation at all for this sudden mindlessness. Well, what did he want? How did he expect to get rid of the unwelcome distraction? He needed to, that was out of the question. Not even a whole day had passed since the discovery of the boys. In what state would he be the next day or the day after, compared to how miserable he already felt? It was most urgent to bring the ship safely into the next possible port, and for this, he had to have a clear mind to concentrate. If he could only take a look at his map without getting distracted immediately, it would not be difficult at all to find out where to drop anchor. 

By six bells during the middle watch, he couldn't bear it anymore. In a moment of madness, he left his cabin and headed for the midshipmen's berths in order to demand satisfaction. He had no idea how to do that or what he might gain, but desperation  
had chased off all common sense. He wasn't even aware of the fact that he was playing with fire. 

***

Only when he was standing in front of Hornblower's hammock and saw the young man lying there did he come to his senses. He caught his shivering hand just in time as it hovered over the sleeper's linen shirt. This was madness. Complete and utter madness. He knew that by standing there, he would only make it worse. Nevertheless, he couldn't break away, couldn't take his eyes from his midshipman, the smooth lines of his face, the soft lashes of his eyes, full lips slightly parted - he had the face of what must have been an angel. 

Suddenly, Hornblower stirred and opened his eyes, staring a Norrington whose ragged breath heaved. The commander winced reflexively, but stood and watched, almost frozen.

"Sir?" Horatio gave his superior a questioning look - and oh, those eyes, those damned dark eyes... Norrington felt as if he was just about to drown. Which, all things considered, would still have been better than that very uncomfortable situation.

He tried to answer, tried to say something, but here were no words at all, neither to explain nor to excuse himself. He breathed in and he breathed out again without any result. It seemed his brain had just stopped thinking. 

"Sir? What is it?" the midshipman asked again, this time a bit louder and with a frown on his face. "I haven't missed my watch, have I?"

"No," Norrington hastily replied and shook his head, wondering how he could speak at all. "No, you have not..."

"Then sir, with respect, I-"

"Mr. Hornblower," Norrington interrupted him and tried to keep his voice down. "Please accompany me to my cabin to sort out some unfinished business." 

Oh, that had been easy. Too easy, really. Norrington was quite surprised at himself having uttered those meaningful words, having been able to utter them at all. Unfinished business, indeed. 

Horatio seemed oblivious to the depth of his superior's challenge, but without a further word he got out of his hammock and tried to fetch his uniform, when Norrington's hand moved to the younger man's arm to hold him back. "That won't be necessary."

For an instant, Horatio frowned, but then he nodded, still slightly confused. "Yes, sir."

Only a few minutes later, they had arrived in the captain's cabin of the ship, where said captain was not only about to lose his composure but also his nerves.

***

Thoughtlessness. Folly. Insanity. Had he been thinking, Norrington would already have run out of words to describe his action, but he was too consumed with discomfort, now that the dark eyes stared at him.

Was he out of his mind? Had he really been such a fool to believe that Horatio Hornblower returned his attraction, his lust? Or had he meant to take advantage of the unlawful discovery? Was he without any conscience or heart? 

In any way, he was well aware of the fact that by speaking his mind and forcing his feelings upon him he would most possibly hurt his loyal midshipman when he was supposed to guide him, not break him. He was his captain, the one responsible for his training. Hornblower was very talented, gifted with the great potential to make a good career in the Royal Navy. Lieutenant, post-captain - even admiral; he would climb the ranks quicker than other men in his position, and it was Norrington's duty to prepare him for that. He could not risk it, neither for Hornblower's nor his own sake, just because of flights of fancy. He had done enough already to risk the good companionship of three months - and the prospect of yet a longer one. 

However, it was the point of no return. Nothing he could say now would alter the situation. Nothing could get him out of the pit he had dug for himself. So, after what had seemed an eternity, he surrendered. 

"Mr. Hornblower, I have to speak with you about... about the last hell watch."

The midshipman didn't even start. It must already have dawned on him. "Yes, sir," he answered quietly, conscious of what would await him. "I have no words with which to defend myself." 

Norrington shook his head. "That is not what I mean..." he finally said slowly, carefully considering his tone. He didn't know why he bothered to speak when every word tightened the noose around his neck. He could hang for what he was doing if he spoke further. Worse, he would pull an innocent man with him and destroy a promising life. But he could not keep silent. Not anymore.

Hornblower was still standing there, looking at him - almost staring in disbelief. It hurt Norrington to feel those eyes on him when he was desperately trying not to return the gaze, a last, pointless measure of not bringing himself closer to losing his mind. Hadn't looking at him begun it all? 

But Horatio spoke again. "I just want to say, sir, that Mr. Hallett bears no blame. I do, and I will face the consequences of my actions." 

The young midshipman wondered why he could speak with such a steady voice when he was completely terrified inside. He could hang. He could be disgraced in public. Damn them, they had been careless, he and Hallett, by leaving open the door of the wardroom. Now he had to face his commander, and given the circumstances, there was little chance to escape with his life or his public image damaged, especially if Norrington hadn't been the only one to see them like that. He didn't know that for a fact, and he didn't know if Peter knew. He, for his part, hadn't even seen Norrington on the doorstep, only Peter had later mentioned a dark figure in the door, quite certain he must have imagined it. 

Norrington let out a breath and finally looked the younger man in the eye. Green eyes, full of pain and desperation, locked with brown eyes filled with determination and resolve. It hurt even more now, seeing such bravery, such self-restraint. God, what had he done? 

Finally, the dam broke. "I am truly sorry," Norrington managed, his voice hoarse and weak, "and I can only hope you will accept my apology. I find myself unable to explain what evil spirit possessed me and I am deeply ashamed. I must seem like a fool to you and I would understand and accept it if you requested a transfer to another ship."

"Sir," Horatio objected, "I've always held you in the highest esteem and I have no inclination to be transferred. It is I who has to apologize to you, even though I am aware that no apology will save me from my fate. It will make no difference in my regards for you if you do your duty and hang me."

"But I have no wish to hang you!" Norrington was on the verge of hitting his head against the wall, if just to ease the pain inside him. "Please... Horatio..."

Horatio was baffled for a moment. Even though he had only served as a midshipman for about three weeks, he had already learned that Commodore Norrington, whatever the situation, had a face like a mask which never showed any feelings. Or at least, that had been the case up till now. Obviously, Norrington had lost all his self-restraint. But why? It seemed ridiculous to lose one's temper like that only because of one little incident. No, that could not be. It had to be something else, something more important. He watched Norrington closely, his tall frame leaning against the wall, face distorted in helpless agony as he was desperately trying to control his breathing. The man was suffering. 

Only then, Horatio realized what he had been ignorant of. The informal address had made it all clear. Norrington hadn't summoned him here to chide or condemn him. On the contrary, he was trying to be honest with him and he could not do so without disgracing himself. How damnable and disdainful was it, after all, to demand a violation of the Articles of War as the price of silence in regards to another? But it wasn't like that and Horatio knew it. Norrington was an honest man, a good man. He would never take by force what was not meant to be his. And he, Horatio, was given plenty of time to say no.

But he didn't. He didn't want to. Who, after all, would reject someone like Norrington, one of the finest officers in the Majesty's Navy and a better man than most of those who held the same position? Who, with eyes to see and a body to feel, would even _want_ to say no? 

It was a dangerous game, but the prize was high, so much higher than it had been with Hallett, especially because this prize had not been expected at all. He had not even dared to hope for it. 

Hallett had only served to demonstrate Horatio where his interests lay. The young man had somehow sensed it from the start and decided to do something about it, the night he had taken him to the small room on the quarterdeck, next to the galley - a place usually vacated during nighttime. He had helped him find himself, understand himself; and after this, he had educated him. It hadn't been just one night, but Horatio was certain that everything that happened between them hadn't been any more than tutoring and being tutored. More than once, he had caught himself thinking about other people while Hallett was pleasuring him. Midshipman Lynley, whose smile made Horatio believe he could do anything. Lieutenant Heathcliff, who was the perfect image of Endymion come to life. Oh, and Commodore Norrington, who embodied everything the Royal Navy stood for - and so much more; whom he had even dreamt about on occasion, everytime waking up with a sticky mess between his legs. At first, his thoughts had made him feel guilty, and a short time had followed during which he had declined Hallett's offers, but he had tasted blood and wanted more, so he had given in to his fellow midshipman again at the end. Never had he thought that the day would come to get it from a person he actually felt attracted to, someone who set his heart on fire.

Since Norrington seemed still torn between his desire and his conscience, staring and obviously trying to say something but not succeeding, Horatio decided the first move would be his. He stepped towards the older man and relieved him of his burden by pressing his lips to Norrington's; a soft, rather hesitant kiss, but with enough force to make him realize that there was a flame burning inside them both. 

If that was what dying felt like, Norrington thought, it would be best to die right here and now. He was sure that only those who had been burned before could truly have an idea of how the fire of that simple kiss was consuming him. But he had to stop it. He couldn't force Hornblower - no, Horatio, since he had already allowed himself to go that far - to do something he would most certainly regret on the morrow. 

So he finally broke the kiss and pushed Horatio away with the last remains of resolve in him. "I'm sorry... I can't..." 

Horatio was taken aback for a moment, as he realized the terrifying possibility of having mistaken his captain's meaning, and he felt his cheeks flush as he lowered his eyes in shame and muttered almost inaudibly, "I have gone too far."

Norrington sighed, completely at a loss for words. He knew what Horatio had to be thinking. Inevitably, by pushing Horatio away, he had not only hurt the young man's pride but also his self-esteem, because the ambitious midshipman imagined the mistake in himself. It was wrong, of course, but how could he speak his heart without violating his duty? How, in that situation, could he say anything at all without acting against the law?

"Just... just assure me..." He knew that he could not expect the answer he wanted to hear, even though he was still hoping for it. He could not bring up the strength to finish the sentence, to ask what he really wanted to know. 

But Horatio was not praised for his mathematical talent without reason. Even though Norrington's behaviour seemed highly irrational to the captain of the _Phoenix_ himself, his midshipman had guessed his intentions and finally put him out of his misery. "That I want this?" he asked, the hint of a challenge in his tone. "As much as you do? Upon my word. I do."

"Very well then." 

Despite the safety of the hour and the privacy of his cabin, Norrington trembled to reveal himself to the midshipman. However, the more aware he became of the fact that the most difficult step had been made and the worst lay behind him, the more he calmed down, until he finally swallowed his pride and hesitation and reached out to touch Horatio, savouring the feeling of the young man's soft hair under his fingers and palm. 

When Horatio kissed him again, more fervently this time, Norrington finally kissed him back. How he had desired him! How he still desired him! The attraction was beyond words, inexplicable and indescribable, but there he was and there was Horatio. Two men of one mind, for this one night. It was so easy.

Quickly, they removed each other's shirts, almost ripping them apart in the urgence of their passion, and Horatio was surprised to see what a captain's brocade could, in fact, hide. His arms around the taller man's slim waist, he greedily started to explore the milky white skin and wondered why - like others he had seen in the wardroom - Norrington rarely carried bruises or scars. Horatio couldn't explain his sudden interest in his superior's tokens of battle; maybe it was just the excitement of the temporary privilege to touch him everywhere or the curiosity about the price for his rank. In any case, the young man was intrigued to find out where the marks were hidden.

Norrington moaned at the unexpected assault, having always taken his midshipman to be of a rather hesitant nature. But his blood was boiling in his veins, and not only the heat Horatio was radiating was to blame. The touch of his fingers, his lips, the feeling of their bodies pressed against each other... It was almost too much to bear. So he welcomed the passion he hadn't experienced for a very long time gladly.

Suddenly, he lost his balance, falling towards the table and pulling Horatio with him. Burning with desire, he pressed the midshipman's body against the wood and his own against Horatio, unwilling and unable to let go. He was about to ruin his charts, but he couldn't bring himself to care much about it at the moment. Then, Horatio's hand was between their bodies, opening his breeches and the sudden touch of his fingers against Norrington's privates made the captain gasp and close his eyes, feeling his body yearn for more. He would get it. Everything he wanted was offered to him, and he gladly accepted. 

Horatio had taken the lead, eager to show what he knew, eager to please. Norrington didn't mind, though the idea of abusing a subordinate was still nagging at his conscience and he couldn't come to his senses and acknowledge that it really wasn't like that between them. Horatio was overwhelming him, chasing all thoughts away by what he was doing with his hands. 

"You... you..." Norrington stammered under his ragged breath, "you have - ah... done this before, haven't you?"

"Yes," Horatio replied, breathing equally heavily. "This, at least." And with a clever move, he pressed his own crotch against Norrington's so that the older man thought he would explode that very moment. Nothing could hold him back now. 

He lifted the midshipman onto the table, now crumpling and kinking his maps and charts, bedding him on the duty of a captain - a duty which he was violating utterly, even though his body didn't cease to affirm him that he was following the right course. 

Norrington didn't know much about the things two men did with each other when they were intimate, but he had enough experience to know what he liked himself, and especially his shore leave in Gibraltar as a midshipman had taught him many interesting things indeed. Even though he couldn't remember the prostitute's name anymore whom his shipmates had decided to take him to after they had learned that he was still a virgin, he remembered everything she had done during those two hours and he wondered how it would be to do it himself, to another man. 

Quickly, he undid Horatio's breeches and pulled them down and away. If Horatio had paid any attention to his superior's facial expression at the moment, it would not have escaped his notice that Norrington was surprised at the young man's considerable length. He was undoubtedly well-endowed, but it didn't have anything strange or curious about it, as sometimes that was the case with men of an ordinary height. Horatio was beautiful, sprawled over the wooden table, nude and perfect in every way. And he wanted him. He wanted all of him, right here and now. The thought was driving him mad, because all he desired literally lay before him, and he only needed to grasp it - but there was too much he wanted to do and clearly too little time. 

Norrington was aware of the fact that Horatio wanted to prove himself, to show his quality and to not disappoint his captain, as it had always been the case with the midshipman on duty, but right now, he had other plans for him. Sin occurred in the mind first - at least that was what the Bible said. His had already committed a least a dozen and he wanted to make sure his body enjoyed the pleasure as well.

His fingers moved over the midshipman's exposed chest and travelled down, barely touching, tracing slow, lazy circles on the hot skin. Horatio had his eyes closed and was breathing steadily, apparently concentrating, maybe trying to keep his arousal under control, but Norrington could feel his body shiver occasionally.

The farther down he touched Horatio, the faster the young man's breathing, and the sight of Horatio's body responding to his touches made it very difficult not to pin him down and ravish him mercilessly, even though Horatio seemed on the verge of begging for it, hopeful eyes piercing him, wet tongue slowly and enticingly moistening dry lips, hands twitching almost imperceptibly, eager to take command - with every move, Horatio seemed to be trying to make him do what his propriety didn't allow him to ask for. However, Norrington wanted to be certain.

"What do you want me to do?" Oh heavens, was that cracked voice really his?

Horatio opened his eyes, unsure if he had just imagined the question. It was difficult to concentrate on surroundings, really, with those hands on him. But the question hung in the room and Norrington was definitely expecting an answer. "I... I don't know," he finally managed, wondering if his captain was simply asking for permission or if there was more to it. "I'm all yours," he added quickly, afraid of sounding inexperienced or unimaginative. "Just - just go slow... I haven't..."

"Oh, me neither!" Now, the words were out, and it was impossible to put them back. It was true that he had never been with a man, and having been with a woman once surely couldn't count, but still, he regretted admitting his inexperience the moment he had done so. He probably lacked experience, but he surely didn't lack imagination, and maybe Horatio wouldn't even have noticed. Norrington sighed. 

Understandably, Horatio stared at him, baffled. "You mean, you... ?"

"Yes. I mean- I know what I like..." Norrington swallowed. Gods, what was he talking about? Why was he talking at all?

"Then please... Do it..." Horatio, unable to wait any longer, took Norrington's hand and pushed it down his body, moaning deeply when it finally made contact with his aching cock. "Please..."

Good God, why on earth had he been afraid of this? It felt so familiar to touch Horatio there, to move his hand along the younger man's hard length that Norrington wondered why a thing like that could be forbidden at all. It even seemed more normal than touching a woman, because they were both men, equal in their desires and knowing how to satisfy them because they knew themselves!

The expression on Horatio's face told him that he was right, so he kept moving his hand, slowly teasing the head of Horatio's cock with his thumb while moving his other hand down to caress his balls. But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. So he bent down, inhaling the sweet scent of Horatio's hot skin while spreading kisses on his stomach, his loins and finally his member before he tasted him completely.

When the wet heat engulfed him, Horatio threw his head back and bit back a deep moan at the sensational illusion of feeling touched almost everywhere at once. It felt so good, so perfect, but he was so damn close and he knew that it would be over sooner than he would allow. All that talking, that bedevilled procrastination, the denial of the inevitable - because they had both known it would come to this, as soon as they had arrived in Norrington's cabin - had driven Horatio mad; so mad that when Norrington finally did something, it was too much to bear but not enough to satisfy.

Norrington sensed the tension building inside Horatio, but he wouldn't let him find release just now. Not before having shown him everything he had secretly dreamed about doing, since the night in Gibraltar. So he quickly moved his fingers around the very base of Horatio's member - one of the prostitute's most useful tricks for virgins - and squeezed hard, forcing his orgasm to fight for release. 

Horatio gasped, completely surprised and not knowing why the feeling had ebbed just now, just like that, but Norrington wasn't willing to give him time for contemplation. Suddenly, Norrington's mouth was on him again, wet tongue moving down his cock, teasing his balls slowly, then pressing against the perineum. 

_Oh God._ Horatio felt as if he would break. He had never thought that this particular spot could evoke such a wave of lust. He grabbed for the edge of the table, but all he grasped were the charts without gaining a fingertip's worth of traction. And Norrington was continuing his teasing, mercilessly exploring that particular spot, wiggling his tongue until Horatio was almost crying out with pleasure, drawing his knees to his chest as close as he could. 

Norrington was fascinated. He knew, of course, how his own body responded to being touched there, but he would have never thought that others would react the same. And the discovery clearly awoke his ambition to give Horatio more of it. So he moved further down until his tongue reached Horatio's exposed anus.

"Oh _God_!" This time, Horatio couldn't stop himself from crying it out, and he quickly moved his hand to his lips and let it rest there, ready to bite down on it at the next unexpected wave of pleasure. 

He didn't have to wait long. Norrington's tongue was exploring the soft sensitive skin, occasionally brushing flat over the entrance but not penetrating just yet, slowly driving Horatio mad with want. 

The young man panted heavily, saw stars dancing in front of his eyes, but it was not enough, not enough by far. He wanted more. He was ready to beg for more. "Please... I need-" 

It was not possible to talk anymore. As soon as Norrington's tongue pressed past the sensitive ring, Horatio bit his hand hard to muffle a cry a cry so loud he was certain that he'd awakened the entire ship. He was so close, once again, and only one more clever lick would have pushed him over the edge. But that lick didn't come; instead, he felt his captain's fingers on the base of his cock again, squeezing firmly. By now, his passion had left him so delirious he almost didn't hear Norrington's murmured words, "Not just yet." 

Horatio felt joy, pain, desperation, bliss, longing... all at the same time. Damn him, he was harder than ever, his member saluting proudly to his captain, like a newly promoted officer. 

Norrington, on the other hand, felt exactly the same and the curious cocktail of feelings making him dizzy and faint. There was only one thing left for him to want, and merciful heavens, how he wanted it. It was one thing to watch Horatio moan and pant under his touch, but another thing to make him come, finally, with his cock inside him. He needed it. He wanted it beyond words. 

"Horatio, I..." Norrington swallowed the lump inside his throat, his voice hoarse with desire. "I need you. I want to have you."

Horatio almost didn't let his captain finish. "Take me," he begged, pulling his knees up further, literally offering himself. 

Norrington wasn't going to refuse him, but he wasn't going to hurt him either. "Stay," he commanded, and Hornblower lay entirely still, panting softly, as Norrington's eyes frantically searched the room for something, _anything_... His gaze fell on the a bottle of lamp oil. It would have to do. With shaking fingers, he uncorked the bottle and spread its contents on the head of his member. Hornblower watched him with dark eyes, licking his lips. "Please..." he said again, stretching himself out even more widely on the table, and let out a gasp when Norrington finally positioned himself, the head of his cock teasing Hornblower's sensitive anus. "Yes... do it..." he gasped. "I want it..." Norrington didn't need another invitation and slowly, tantalizingly slowly, pushed in.

God, the tight heat! It was too much, really, and the incredibly erotic hissing sound Horatio was making while he was being penetrated only made it worse. The situation had become so intense that Norrington had to grit his teeth hard not to come undone that very moment. 

Horatio was desperately trying to control his breath, trying to remember to breathe at all, but it was so difficult. Norrington's cock felt enormous inside him, and he wasn't even having half of it yet. It didn't hurt that much, physically, but Horatio was certain it would never fit; he would never be able to have all of him. And it was that particular thought that brought tears to his eyes - tears he quickly wiped away with his hand, hoping Norrington didn't see them. He would not capitulate now. So he rested his hands on the table and pulled back, causing slight retreat and then, with all his force, lifted his hips and slammed down, forcing Norrington's member all the way inside him. 

_"Fuck..."_

Norrington didn't even realize what he had just said or that he had said anything at all when all he could think of now was being buried to the hilt inside Horatio. It was hard not to start hammering it home now, to grant himself the release his body had been aching for ever since he had found Horatio and Peter Hallett. He forced himself to move slowly, considering the pain the young man must be feeling. He didn't know if Horatio could find release just by anal stimulation, so he brought his hand to the younger man's member again, stroking along with his moves. 

He would soon know that it wasn't necessary. Suddenly, Horatio's eyes went wide and the young man bit back another sharp cry, which emerged as nothing more than a whimper. He must have hit a particularly sensitive nerve inside him, a magical spot, and with his next thrusts, he endeavoured to hit it again and again. 

Horatio felt as if his eyes were rolling back in his head. He would have never expected that. If nature hadn't wanted men to find pleasure with their likes, why did it feel so good then? Why did he feel such a thing, such a wave of heat, when he was the one on the receiving end, the one being used? What ignorant person had developed the theory that being buggered just served the purpose of the man on top? He couldn't believe it. 

Some hard thrusts later he was lying there, eyes closed, head spinning - the midshipman clearly on the verge of fainting, when Norrington, with a clever move of his hips, finally granted him release. 

When his climax washed over him, Horatio bit his hand so hard that he tasted copper and iron. But there was no end to it. He was twitching, shivering helplessly, his whole body convulsing with so much force that he thought he would break into pieces. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't stop. It was the most intense thing he had ever experienced, and the longer he shuddered, entirely consumed by his passion, the closer he felt to complete oblivion. 

The power of Horatio's release, his body's heavy contractions and the sight of the young man squirting his volley all over his chest, the table, the chair and the charts was the point of no return for Norrington, and he came hard, tears in his eyes as he ground his teeth to muffle his own cry.

***

When he awoke the next morning, Horatio was gone. But his scent and the musky atmosphere of their lovemaking still hung in the air, almost enough to make Norrington come again, just by thinking of it. Good God, what had he done? How could he ever have lost his composure like that? And would he ever be able to look his midshipman in the eye again? 

When the ship suddenly lurched forward, he nearly fell out of his cot. Another lurch, this time in the other direction, and he didn't even notice hitting his head as he stumbled out of his cot and across the room. Already, he could hear voices on deck, shouting "Wind! Wind!" Had their streak of bad luck finally run out? It certainly seemed that way - the ship was moving, swaying gently, gaining speed.

He rushed to the table, about to grab his instruments and get his bearings, then stopped dead in his tracks, surprised by the destructive display. The interior of the cabin had the air of a battlefield, the charts abused and crumpled across the table and the items which their carnal orgy had spread over the room: his compass under the desk, the quill under his bed, ink soaked into the carpet, the protractor on the chair. He knew he should feel ashamed of what he had done, but he couldn't bring himself to regret a single moment of it. Worse - he knew he would do it again gladly, given the chance. 

In any case, Fate apparently didn't have a mind to seek retribution for his misconduct. The chart he had currently been charting his course with had remained intact - apart from an ink stain, almost too accurately placed within the Atlantic Ocean to be a coincidence. 

St. Helena. An island in the possession of the British East India Trading Company. 

Hurriedly, Norrington rushed out of his cabin in order to do two things.

The first was to inform the helmsman to change course for St. Helena where they would make port and stock up on supplies.

And the second was to thank his midshipman for opening his eyes and making him see clearly. Twice.


End file.
